


Finding Home

by Meme_Loving_Trash



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Langst, M/M, Post-Season/Series 04, Pure Self-Indugence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-06
Updated: 2018-01-01
Packaged: 2019-01-30 06:20:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12647871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meme_Loving_Trash/pseuds/Meme_Loving_Trash
Summary: Lance and Keith deal with the fallout post season 4. It goes about as well as you might think.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Guess who's awful at summaries? Hint: It's Me

_Attention, paladins of Voltron  and rebel fighters.  I know we’ve had our differences in the past, but…I think it is time we had a discussion._

The first thing that Lance thought upon seeing Lotor was that he was a lot…smaller then he had imagined.

                It was a reasonable thought, he supposed. After all, most Galra were at least, like, eight feet tall, and Zarkon had to be like ten foot two at least (not that he had ever been face to face with him so couldn’t really be sure but like, he could assume). Yet even with Lotor lounging in one of the chairs on the control deck— _his_ chair, he noticed with a bristle—with the paladins standing above him, Lance could tell that the prince would be barely taller than him when he stood.

                The second thing that Lance thought was that Lotor exuded an air of…fake demureness, like he was trying as hard as he could to make himself as non-threatening as possible. It didn’t work, in fact, it rather set Lance on edge.

                His third thought was _damn, that hair though._

Pidge elbowed him sharply in the ribs and he jumped, plunging guilty back to reality. He focused his attention back to Shiro and the interaction with the former Galran prince that was currently underway.

                “A truce?” Shiro sounded skeptical, and Lance could hardly blame him.

                “Of course,” Lotor said airily, waving a hand. “ _I_ hate my father, _you_ hate my father, and well…what is it you humans say about the enemy of my enemy being my friend?” Lotor grinned a sharp-toothed grin and Lance thought he looked like a shark, just as pretty and just as dangerous. “I think we could be great friends, you and I.”

                “Right.” Shiro seemed unconvinced. “And why should we trust you?”

                “Well, you don’t need to, I suppose.” Lotor looked unbothered. “It’s your loss, really.”

                “Right. Well.” Shiro crossed his arms. “You understand that I need to discuss this with my team.”

                “But of course.” Lotor stood and strode across the deck to the door. “Take as long as you need.”

                Lance felt a little stunned by how Lotor seemed to have taken charge of the situation, and by the look on his fellow paladin’s faces, he could tell that they felt the same. “Well?” Shiro asked them as soon as the door had hissed shut. “Thoughts?”

                “I don’t trust him,” Lance said immediately.

                “Agreed,” said Pidge, and Allura and Hunk nodded.

                “Neither do I,” said Shiro heavily. “Unfortunately, I think he’s the best shot we’ve got at taking down Zarkon.”

                “So what?” Lance asked disbelievingly. “Are we just going to—what, let him join the team? Be buddy-buddy with the son of the greatest threat the universe has ever known? Hell, why don’t we just let him pilot a lion while we’re at it?!”

                “Lance,” Shiro said warningly.

                “For all we know he could be a spy! He could be feeding Zarkon intel as we speak—where we are, what our plans are—”

                “ _Think_ , will you Lance?” Shiro said impatiently. “Who the Hell would he be spying for? Zarkon wants him dead.”

                “So he said!”

                “We heard it ourselves on the Galra’s unicomm.”

                “But—”

                “Can’t you just shut up and trust me?” Shiro snapped.

                Lance gritted his teeth. “I don’t know how you can say that when _Keith_ would have—”

                “What, Lance? What would Keith have done, exactly?”

                “Keith would never have demanded we trust him against our better judgement!” (He realized it was stupid the second he said it, Keith had literally said those same exact words on multiple different occasions, but he was angry and anger made him reckless and he wasn’t about to back down now. Mama may have raised an idiot but she sure as Hell didn’t raise a quitter.)

                (Why did everything have to come back to Keith anyway?)

                “So what I’m hearing is,” Shiro began slowly, “You think that _Keith_ would have made a better judgement call?”

                Lance caught his breath. “Yes. That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

                “Do you think he was a better leader, too? That I should just hand over the Black Lion on a platter?” The words themselves were scathing, but it was the ice in the black paladin’s voice that cut him like a blade and lent heat to his anger.

                “Yeah, maybe you should!”

                The words were out of his mouth before he knew what he was saying. The room went silent, and suddenly Lance realized that he had gone too far. Yet, somehow, he couldn’t bring himself to care. He met Shiro’s gaze hotly, daring him to reply.

                “Remember that he left us before.” The black paladin’s voice was quiet. “Who’s to say that he won’t do it again?”

                Now, Lance had never had much by way of a filter to begin with, and Lord knew Shiro was already pissed off, so go big or go home, right? Might as well keep digging this hole. _“_ Keith left because he thought it was the right thing to do. Letting him pilot the Black Lion now might be the right thing, too. Voltron _needs_ him, can’t you see that? _We_ need Keith!”

                Shiro’s eyes narrowed. “No,” he said, slow and deliberate, “I think _you_ need Keith.”

                The accusation hit him like a blow. His vison went red for a heartbeat, anger and hurt battling for dominance as he struggled to keep his breath steady.

_This isn’t right._

                The realization brought a shock of sharp clarity. The red bayard hissed into existence in his hand, and almost before he realized what he was doing he was pressing it into Shiro’s palm. “Here. Take it. I quit.”

                 Instant uproar. Lance couldn’t even begin to understand what they were saying, couldn’t even bring himself to look at their shocked angry confused faces, couldn’t even make himself look away from Shiro’s eyes—cold and black, like water under ice—until Shiro raised a hand for silence, regal and commanding and every inch a leader. “Lance.” His voice was low and dangerous, a coiled snake. “Think about what you’re doing.”

                 “I have.” He was impressed that his own voice didn’t crack, didn’t shake, didn’t betray the turmoil he felt deep in his chest. “I’m sorry, Shiro. I can’t pilot the red lion. I’m not…” not what, exactly? Not his right hand? Not _Keith_?

                 “If you leave, we can’t form Voltron—”

                 “Find someone else, Shiro. Because it won’t be me. Not anymore.” With that, Lance spun on his heel and stalked away.

                 Never let it be said that Lance McClain did not have a flair for the dramatic.

 

 

It wasn’t until he’d been wandering the castle hallways for half a varga that he realized that he had no idea where he was going, and no idea where he wanted to go, at that. His room seemed the obvious choice, yet he couldn’t stand the thought of hiding under his covers like a sulking little kid. (Which, truth be told, he kind of felt like, but that didn’t mean that he needed to _act_ like it too.)

                His feet carried him almost unconsciously to Blue’s bay door. He stood staring at it for a long time, aware of what was waiting just beyond it and unwilling to get any closer. Why? Was he scared? Or grieving? He hadn’t told anyone this, but since he had started piloting Red he had stopped hearing Blue’s voice in his head, and he _missed_ her. He missed her like he missed Varadero Beach, and his mother, and the rain. Except that this was almost worse, because Blue had been a literal part of him, her mind melded to his so closely that he couldn’t tell where he ended and the lion began. Losing her was like losing his leg.

                Suddenly, the thought of everything he had lost took his breath away.

                Then he turned, and walked away.

 

Later, Lance found himself curled up in the cockpit of the Red Lion, staring at the dark dashboard in front of him without really seeing it. He had found himself doing that a lot, recently. Nothing but himself and his lion, alone with his thoughts and the peace and blessed quiet--

                “I thought I’d find you here.”

                Lance twisted around. Keith was ducking through the cockpit door. His Blade of Marmora uniform was gone, replaced by the thin black shirt and jeans that Lance remembered he liked to train in. (Not that he paid much attention to what his teammate wore while training, mind you, and he definitely didn’t notice the delicious way the shirt would cling to his abs when it was drenched with sweat, nope--) “Do you mind?” Lance grumbled, turning away. “I’m trying to sulk here.”

                Keith crossed the cockpit and leaned on the dashboard facing him, his arms crossed. Lance determinedly avoiding looking at him. “I talked to Shiro,” the black-haired boy announced.

                “Of course you did.”

                “What the hell did you _do_?”

                “Haven’t you heard?” Lance scowled. “I’m just really good at screwing things up.”

                “Yeah, well…” Keith sighed. “You and me both.”

                They were both silent for a long moment, until Keith spoke again. “Why?”

                “ _Why_?” Lance snapped, glaring daggers at him. “Are you seriously asking me that right now?” Keith didn’t answer. Eventually Lance sighed. “It’s pretty hard to be a right hand when nobody cares enough to listen to what you have to say.”

                “Lance—”

                “Well, what is it you want me to say, _Keith_?” Lance demanded, exasperation and exhaustion manifesting as anger. “That I quit because I’m not a good enough paladin? Because I can’t handle the Red Lion? Because I’m not _you_?”

                “I don’t want you to say that.”

                The wounded look on Keith’s face reminded him of a kicked puppy, and Lance felt appropriately as appalled with himself that he had caused it. “Look, I’m sorry,” he muttered. “I just…I just don’t think I can do this right hand thing anymore.”

                “Look,” Keith kneeled in front of him, and Lance was suddenly aware of just how _close_ he was, “I think we can both agree that this is a pretty shitty situation—”

                “Very,” Lance agreed, only somewhat distracted by the other boy’s closeness and how he swore he smelled like strawberries, which c’mon, wasn’t _fair_ , they were in _space_ for Christssake, it wasn’t like body wash was super easy to come by—

                “ _But_ ,” Keith drawled, bringing Lance abruptly back to the present, “That doesn’t change the fact that you, are, in fact, a paladin of Voltron, and that for some reason, Red is letting you pilot her, so you still have a pretty important job to do. It isn’t something you can just quit, Lance.”

                “Tell me something I don’t know,” Lance muttered.

                “You still have a part to play.”

                “Yeah.”

                “So just play the part,” Keith murmured, pulling the red bayard out of nowhere—had he had that since he arrived? Lance hadn’t even noticed—and pushing it into Lance’s palm with one hand and curling his fingers around its hilt with the other. Lance shivered at the touch and Keith’s burning gaze filled his own until he thought his whole world must be purple fire. “Please.”

               “Okay.” His voice was heavy and didn’t feel like his own, .

               “Thank you.” Keith visibly relaxed, and stood.

               “Keith?” Lance blurted out before he could think. “Are you going to leave again?”

               The black-haired boy didn’t meet his eyes, and for a second Lance’s stomach twisted and he couldn’t breathe. But then Keith looked back at him. “No.” His voice was barely a whisper. “I don’t think so.”

              “Good.” Suddenly Lance could breathe again. “I’m glad.”

              Purple eyes went wide, and he was suddenly terrified that he had said the wrong thing. Curse his big mouth. His mama was right when she said it would get him into trouble someday. (And so it had, on more than one occasion, so he already knew whole-heartedly that she was right, as always.)  But then the purple gaze went soft, and the look that Keith gave him was so tender that Lance thought his heart would stop.

_I think_ you _need Keith_. Shiro’s voice echoed in his head.

             Maybe he did.

             But maybe that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing.


	2. Chapter 2

Time passed, for a while.

     The Galra had been strangely quiet, and Shiro had taken advantage of the lull to set them all on a strict training regimen. Today’s fun group activity was about as simple as it got: five paladins, ten Altean gladiator bots, you know, your average Saturday evening. Coran had assured them, with his usual huge smile, that it would be the most fun they would have for a while.

     Lance was going to have a talk with him soon about his definition of _fun._               

     Lance had set up shop on a ledge about halfway up the wall, intent on putting his sharpshooter skills to use. He had managed to snipe two gladiators’ feet out from under them already, and was setting up for a third shot when he noticed Pidge being backed into a corner by a bot two feet taller than she was. He lined up the shot, aiming for the gladiator’s wrist joint, and pulled the trigger.

     It was a perfect shot, and Lance knew it, until Pidge twisted at the last possible second and the blast that was supposed to disarm the gladiator missed and hit her arm instead.

     It was a graze more than anything, Coran assured them. It was nothing a few hours in the healing pod wouldn’t fix, on a scale of one to mortal injury it was really more of a ‘rug burn’. Pidge was going to be fine, no doubt about it.

     Shiro…did not seem placated by the prognosis.

     The lecture that followed was one of the worst Lance had ever endured. Shiro didn’t yell, that wasn’t like him, but the ice in his voice froze Lance’s blood and settled in his stomach. He wasn’t even sure he understood the words coming out of Shiro’s mouth--but he definitely caught a few, among them _stupid, careless, were-you-thinking-at-all-you-could’ve-killed-her_.

     Hunk and Allura were no help. They hung back a few feet behind the black paladin, Hunk staring determinedly at the floor, Allura’s gaze flicking nervously between Shiro and Lance, as if wondering if she should intervene. _Don’t_ , Lance tried his best to plead with her telepathically. _You don’t need to get dragged into this too._

     Shiro finally paused for breath. He met Lance’s eyes, his gaze blazing black fire, and Lance couldn’t help but flinch away. Shiro sighed, and stalked past Lance and out of the training decks, no doubt headed to the healing pod bay. After a moment’s hesitation, Hunk followed him, casting a sympathetic glance towards Lance as he left.

     Allura came up behind him. “Do you think Shiro’s been acting…weird, lately?” Lance asked her.

     She looked away from him and didn’t answer.

     “You see it too, right?” Lance pressed. “He’s…different, isn’t he?”

     “He’s been through a lot,” Allura told him. “It’s affected him more than we realize.” She gave his hand a fleeting squeeze. “He just needs some time.”

      Then she left, too, and Lance was alone.

As usual, he found himself in Red’s bay, longing for the comfort that came with being alone with his lion.

     And, as usual, Keith was already there, waiting for him.

     The former black paladin had taken to joining him when Lance snuck away to not-sulk in Red’s cockpit. At first it had been irritating—like seriously dude, Lance came here to get _away_ from you half the time, what the hell is your deal—not to mention that it worried him how used he was getting to the other boy’s presence. There was something comforting about it.

     (He never thought he’d see the day that _Keith_ would be his favorite person to hang out with.)

     “How’s Pidge?” Keith asked by way of greeting. He was sprawled in the pilot’s chair and had to twist his head to look at Lance as he came in.

     “She’s going to be _fine_ ,” Lance grumbled. “She’s tougher than all of us put together. It wasn’t even that bad.” He said this like he hadn’t dropped his bayard in a panic the second he had realized what he had done and rushed to her side, screaming for Coran and Hunk and Matt and anyone else he could think of. “And she’s never gonna let me hear the end of this.”

     “Well, you did _shoot_ her.”

     “Not on _purpose!_ ” Lance cried. “And don’t you remember that time she _tazed me_?!”

     “To be fair, you deserved it.”

     Lance was going to retort until he saw that Keith was smiling, and for a second he forgot how to breathe.

_Stupid pretty boy Mullet , why does he have to be that cute, it isn’t fair--_

     His must’ve been staring at Keith like an idiot, but thankfully Keith didn’t comment on it. Instead he turned away, leaving Lance to find a spot on the floor soft enough to sit on. “You’re in my seat,” Lance grumbled, half to himself.

     There was silence for a few minutes. Keith mumbled something that was too low for Lance to hear. He thought he caught _your seat._ “How do you like piloting Red?” Keith asked suddenly.

     “Why do you ask?” Lance answered cautiously. As if he couldn’t guess.

     Keith shrugged, looking uncomfortable. “I dunno. Just…curious, I guess.”

     Lance thought for a second. “I mean…I don’t _not_ like it. Red is…she’s a lot to handle.”

     “Yeah,” Keith agreed quietly, and Lance realized that he was looking at Red’s dashboard with something like hunger in his eyes.

     Lance thought painfully of Blue, and remembered that Keith had lost his lion, too.

     “I know how you feel,” Lance said gently. “I miss Blue, too.”

     “I’ve forgotten what she sounds like,” Keith admitted, longing clear in his voice. “I haven’t heard her since…since I started piloting Black.”

     Lance blinked, unsure of how to answer. (What do you even say to something like that?) He was saved from having to reply when Keith made a sound that might’ve been a laugh, but sounded to Lance more like a sob. “You know,” he said, “sometimes I wake up and I’ll go to put on my armor, and I’ll almost make it out the door before I realize—and then I’ll remember, and it’ll hit me, I’m never going to fly with you guys again…”

_You could_ , Lance wanted to tell him, _Red’s yours if you want her,_ but he had a funny feeling that that ship had sailed, and right now it felt kind of like rubbing salt in the wound to mention it. “I’ve missed flying with you,” he settled for instead. “It’s not the same without you.” And then, because Keith looked so desolate it made Lance’s heart ache to comfort him and he couldn’t really think of a reason not to, he added, “I’ve missed _you._ ”

     Keith’s eyes widened at that, but Lance couldn’t bring himself to regret what he said. He watched as Keith stood slowly, and Lance almost didn’t breathe as he crossed the narrow space and came to kneel in front of him. “Do you really mean that?” he asked softly.

     His face was so close that Lance could count every pore on his nose (seriously, the boy could use a face mask) but he couldn’t even if he wanted to because Keith’s eyes were like magnets to his own and Lance couldn’t bring himself to look away. “Yeah,” he answered, his voice not sounding quite like his own, “I do.”

     Their faces were much, much too close.

     Keith closed the last few inches between them, and Lance let him.

Lance found it hard to convince himself that what he thought had happened had really, actually, in real life happened.

     Because what he _thought_ had happened was that Keith had _kissed_ him, and that Lance had kissed him back maybe just a little (once the shock had worn off), and this went against everything he knew about reality.

     (He also really, really wanted Keith to kiss him again. That was concerning, too.)

     Lance still hadn’t left Red’s bay. After That Thing That Had Probably Most Definitely Happened, Keith had turned bright red and bolted, muttering something under his breath  that Lance had still been too in shock to hear. Lance hadn’t trusted himself to follow him, and so he had found himself alone with his swirling thoughts, staring at a closed door and half-wishing it would open.

     And then it did, but the figure it revealed was hardly a welcome one.

     “What do _you_ want?” Lance scowled at Prince Lotor.

     The purple-skinned alien held up his hands innocently. “Is that any way to greet a guest?” he purred. Lance doesn’t answer. Lotor looked past him. “Such a magnificent machine,” he murmured.

     “She’s _not_ a machine,” Lance snapped. (A half-second later he realized what a stupid statement that was, because she _was_ , but he wasn’t about to backtrack in front of Prince L’Oréal here.)

     Lotor didn’t dignify that with a reply, and frankly, Lance couldn’t blame him. “I was watching your training this morning,” he said instead.

     Lance winced. “How’s Pidge doing?”

     Lotor waved his hand dismissively. “I was more interested in what happened _after._ ”

     Lance’s cheeks burned. “Ok, like, how far after are we talking—”

     “You mentioned that your leader had been acting strange?”

     Lance blinked, confused. “What does that have to do with—”

     “I can tell you why.”

     Lance didn’t like the way Lotor’s eyes glinted at that, like a hungry cat that had just spotted a mouse. Nevertheless, his curiosity was piqued. “Why?”

     “Now, now,” Lotor purred, and Lance suddenly felt very rodent-like. “You can’t just expect me to give that kind of information away for free now, could you?” The implication hung heavy in the air.

     Everything about that sentence was one big screaming red flag, but if Lance was good at doing anything, it was making reckless split-second decisions. “What do you want?” he demanded.

     Lotor beamed. “That, my friend,” he answered, “is up for discussion.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slow burn? Never met her.

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first thing I've posted--Hell, the first thing I've WRITTEN--in a very VERY long time so I am VERY rusty. This is pure and utter self-indulgence, please don't hate me. The rating and tags will most likely change as the story progresses, and I will likely also update the summary once I get a better grasp on how summaries actually work and when it's not 2am and I have work in the morning. Lol.


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